Open wide.

I’m just in from the dentist. My face is all swollen and it was very painful as they were working close to the nerve. However this post is not about pain, but rather about blowjobs. Didn’t see that coming now did you?

First I need to explain that my mouth physically cannot open very far. I had surgery on it about three years ago and since then it has been much, much better - I can bite into apples now and everything. Check me out. Before the surgery I could open my mouth a tiny bit, and even now my mouth span is still really small compared to normal. Nowhere near as bad as before, so hurrah.

Anyway, this can cause difficulty at the dentist as they often can’t get stuff they need to in my mouth through the normal method as the kit is deeper than the opening.

Today for example they needed to put a piece of kit in there but it was simply too deep to go through the gap, however much pushing and wrangling we tried. In the end the only answer was to get it in sideways then adjust the head, as there is more width than depth, and though it was a squeeze in it went.  Not perfect but it just about worked so I'm counting it as a result.

The shape of the piece was not conducive to going in that way and so it had nothing to hold onto. It’s hard to explain accurately but hopefully I’m giving you the gist. I ended up having to try to hold it for them for lengthy reasons (I also ended up having to cuddle and comfort a crying dental nurse at one point, but that’s another story).

Anyway, there I am lying back in a dental chair while the dentist is trying her damnedest to sort things out. She was really great and working under very difficult circumstances (see above re crying dental nurse for one example of many) even without my tricky mouth making things more difficult.

Because the bit in question was totally the wrong shape to be in my mouth that way round though, it kept hitting the back of my throat at really inconvenient moments.

Now, as some of you know I’m not a chick prone to shoving cock in my mouth. It’s just not my thing, and I can’t imagine I’m likely to become overcome with the urge any time soon. So it’s fair to say I’m not an expert at dealing with things going down my throat, and I have a fuck-off gag reflex. But I wanted my dental work and I wasn’t giving up.

So what did I do dear reader? Why, turn mentally to the good ladies of FL of course! All the times I have read a witty journal of kaya’s about blowjobs or whatever, the information has obviously gone in, because I found myself using my ‘talking someone through something voice’ to myself in my head and thinking of all the handy hints and tips I’ve read from you all over the years, along with what I’ve picked up on my own adventures with hot men etc.

So basically I tried to think about the methods for handling this bloody big bit of dental kit trying to skewer my throat as I know some of you do a cock. I thought about all your handy hints and tips (and despite the pain of her digging away right on a nerve and my jaw feeling like it was going to go all skewy again, I found myself nearly sniggering more than once). Don’t bother telling me that if it doesn’t go down all the way it’s not the same, I am perfectly aware of that, but this is basically new territory to me. I’m giving myself 10/10 for effort if nothing else.

So thankyou dearest cocksuckers of the net . I’ve rammed cocks, both flesh and strap ons down the throats of various men and women many times, but I’ve never actually fellated a bit of dental kit before.

'Tomorrow' / today.

As in the day that yesterday I said would hopefully be better.

It wasn't really.

In some ways it was, my pain levels were much more manageable for example which is not to be sneezed at. But in the middle of all the other significant shit rumbling on and generally making everything problematic, a new variable arrived just to make Life extra trying and heart wrenching.

I don't think N really comprehends this. He did however ask to book us a few days in Brighton for later in the year, which he now has. I'm not sure but this may be his way of trying to cheer me up? Assuming of course he has an idea that I'm not coasting along just fine, which is not to be assumed. But either way, he's booked Brighton which I'd mentioned, so that's nice. And he is more himself again which is one less thing to stress about.

But I'm sad, tired, stressed and I hurt. And now I'm going to bed.

'Miss Sparkles' has left the building - don't read if you're looking for rainbows.

Today has been a fucker of a day. There's been lots of stress, and my pain levels went nuts this afternoon. I took less painkillers as part of everything, and suffice to say this proved to be a big error. I really was just curled up in a heap.

I almost never lose my rag but being dicked around while I was in so much pain was not a good plan. 

At least fire is shiny.

I am now suitably drugged up and sitting at my netbook with earphones in listening to soothing music (I even just had Somewhere Over The Rainbow on, such is my desire to be soothed). More codeine will be downed soon. Then I plan to get under a blanket and watch The West Wing; my new boxset discovery, I’m up to about episode eleven and loving it; and then I plan to go to bed at the earliest viable opportunity.We had really good sex this morning which was definitely the highlight of my day.

Tomorrow will be better.

Hopefully.

Boys will be (with) boys.

Well I’ve felt like complete crap since finishing the steroids, which given my blood test results in not surprising. To be honest I still feel like crap, but there is a hint of improvement at last so let’s all celebrate that shall we? All else apart doing nothing much is profoundly dull.

One of the ways we can tell I am recovering is that a perverted itch that needs scratching has arisen. Namely I am very much in the mood for lounging around watching some men engage in sex and the down and dirty varieties of SM under my direction. Some things just never get tired, you know? I could quite fancy watching some nice muscular subordinate male being fucked senseless slightly against his will with some lovely roughness thrown in, that I wasn’t directing too, which indicates I am tired.

This has been my go-to wank material, and a primary sex thought for the last couple of days. I mentioned it to N today and he is strongly encouraging the latter. He was making helpful suggestions about what men I may like to see getting it on and howling (that aren’t him). He is claiming this is simply good service and trying to see I don’t overdo it while I am recovering.

You know, because saying 'slam his arse harder' and orgasming is so much work. 

Blood, Gingerbread and Steroids.

Sadistic Domestic Goddess Tip #48:

One of the most blissful culinary combinations in the world is homemade toffee gingerbread fresh out the oven followed by mouthfuls of blood. The combined flavour is utterly sublime, and very festive. God I love Christmas. 

Needless to say I have been baking, and sampling and am now a little high and very happy :)

Why yes, I do look utterly like the delightful Ms Day as I spread my special domestic Goddess festive cheer!

Ok, now the boring part. I’m on steroids again which should make Yule etc interesting.  I went to the Doctor as I was going downhill so rapidly that it was obvious I was going to be crippled within a fortnight at best, and I thought I’d try being proactive and prevent it getting that far, which last time worked. The Doctor was great, she just took one look at me and wrote me up a hefty prescription which was pleasingly easy. I think I may now be getting the hang of this RA lark.

But enough of this boring stuff, let us return to matters festive, in particular glittery peacock feather slavetails. Thankyou to all of you who memoed, commented or 'loved’ the tasteful and understated photograph of N so chicly adorned for the festive season. I was feeling really ill when I snapped it on a whim, and the overwhelming and hilarious responses made a rough day more cheery. I’m sure N feels the same. He’s currently lying in the bedroom bleeding and recovering following some very loud screaming and asking if I was putting acid on his skin (it wasn’t acid but wasn't that a pretty question)? However, as I haven’t shoved any holly up his arse today or put a disco ball on his balls (the title for that pic would be simple at least, yes?) I personally think that must surely constitute a win for him. And as I said the blood was simply delicious with my gingerbread so that’s what really counts. He lives to serve ;)

Sparkly!

Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaaaaaaah

On the up

Things are looking up again :)

N has decent painkillers which are allowing him to sleep and it’s making a very pleasing difference. My boy is back, hurrah! 

I have been running around making the house twinkly and christmasy which delights my camp sparkly self.

All gift shopping is complete. Repeat, all gift shopping is complete. I have a few things to ‘do’ gift wise, but we are within acceptable time still. I have however wrapped bugger all really.

My health has gone down quite sharply the last week or so, but it’s still objectively good considering the time of year, which I'm trying to focus on. I’m pleasingly non busy at present so I'm trying to buoy myself up that way. Steroids soon are inevitable I suspect, and they should help. 

S is coming to stay over Christmas and he too is perkier again. It's funny how both N & S are following the same patterns really. Though their syncing like this is sort of sweet in it's own way, I must add that it is most inconvenient for me ;)

Our anniversary was rather lovely (and thankyou everyone who sent well wishes, that was really awesome of you all). N very sweetly has not so much as asked to take off the bracelet I gave him since I put it on him. It was intended as a sort of collar substitute for when he can't wear his collar, and he is obviously very pleased with that as he wants to wear a collar more often than he gets to. And the bracelet doesn’t even tangle in my hair at night which is a near miracle.

Now N’s a bit more back to usual I’m hurting him again, which is really good. Repressing sadism is beyond fucking frustrating for me. This will sound ridiculous but it actually hurts. And yes, I know how ironic that is. Not hurting him is a great act of love sometimes. It's really nice to be back :)

It's different when it's mine

I was writing a response to something on FL earlier and I thought I’d try to explain a bit more fully here.

I’m a sadist. That part is easy. I also like control, and preferably ownership. These obviously don’t have to be linked but as soon as you get to O/p they become so for me.

There are so many sadistic things that I like to do to what’s mine, and that gets reflected in myriad ways. Sadism without the context of ownership feels like a different creature to sadism within O/p for me. With someone I don't own it’s just different. I don’t drink just anyone’s blood for example, but if it’s my blood, in the sense that I own it, it’s a glorious, passion filled, life filled intimacy for me.  Take that connection away and the act is unrecognisable for me.

So for me, within the context of O/p sadism becomes more than ‘just’ sadism. It becomes a manifestation of a core truth, an essence, of something to do with authenticity and being who we are, and sharing an energy that we create.

That’s why trying to talk about sadism cleanly, as distinct from O/p doesn’t work for me if I’m talking about sadism within an O/p context. It’s because I am, effectively, talking about an utterly different experience.

I can hurt other people, I can lay all sorts of claim to their bodies, their spirits, their time, their love or whatever it is we are based upon. But unless they are my bodies, and my spirits contained within them, it is not the same from my side of the equation. Can I hit or bite flesh as hard? Yes - but the connection behind that is not in any way the same.  It may be wonderful, but for me it’s not the same.

I want to gulp down blood that I own, not on just anyone’s blood. There may be pleasure in it without ownership but for me, it’s not comparable. And drinking from someone I used to own would feel like sucking on something dead, not the warm fuzzy thing I hear about on FL. It’s the energy and connection that matters to me. As blood floods into my mouth (or whatever the act in question may be) it’s the physical manifestation of a primal, spiritual connection.

I know deep connections can exist without ownership, I have such connections, but this is specific and that’s why I find it hard to talk about sadism as the same thing whether it occurs in O/p or not. Because to me, it just is not the same the same thing. It may be to some people and that's wonderful, but it isn't to me. 

I can get pleasure from being intensely sadistic to people I don’t own, but it is so different to opening up what’s mine, because it’s mine, that it feels like discussing another subject.

Life is hard, and so are we.

A lot of life is pretty crap here at the moment.

N is ill,  in lots of pain, tired and volatile. I am stressed to fuck (for all sorts of quite significant reasons) and staggering on as best I can, periodically finding myself freezing and just wanting to stop the world for a while. I’m not sleeping with a vengeance; this is major insomnia even by my standards; so of course I’m becoming increasingly exhausted which isn’t helping. When the alarm goes in the mornings every day I consider just opting out of the day. Can I fuck everything and just stay in bed? Just today? Just for an hour. I can I can I can…. I can’t. Bugger.

N and I have both used our emergency-emergency-emergency energy reserves, in different ways. We are crawling through the days and things feel endless. It's cold. We have had loads of big unexpected expenses at a time when finances are majorly overstretched. And I’ve slashed N’s working hours for the sake of his health which is of course perfect timing.

N is going to the Dr next week. I meanwhile am thinking of radical action. So the ‘plan’ such as it is, is to basically stagger on and hope the strategies we are implementing will work in time.

Other news? Well I have put on lots of weight (medication and problematic eating – I either can’t eat at all or I am eating carbs. Marvellous).

But I have really nice new purple hair, and currently have a 'fuck it all' Turkish Delight cocktail, while N is listening to music and winding down, so things are not all bad :D

Onwards.

'How long have you been into BDSM?'

When I venture to public access BDSM events, I get asked things like ‘how long have I been kinky?’ ‘How long have I been ‘into’ BDSM?’ ‘When did I start ‘doing’ kinky shit?’ I always look at the people who ask these questions with a sort of blank stare. What are we calling ‘kinky’ for these purposes? How ‘into’ BDSM does one have to be to ‘into’ it? And what kind of ‘it’ are we talking about?

The simple answer is that as long as I’ve been sentient I seem to have had the kink component. I distinctly remembering having hardcore sadistic fantasies; even by my current standards; aged no more than five, though I didn’t see them as sexual then. My erotic fantasies have always been SM and/ or D/s  related.  Interestingly, in my formative years I was rarely the giver of sadism, I was watching others engaged in agonising, dastardly deeds, or occasionally receiving it, but never intentionally being sadistic (I would imagine doing the hurting but never ‘enjoying’ it. Snort). I didn’t want to be a sadist you see. I didn’t like people who hurt people. They were bad. And I didn’t want to be ‘bad’.

What really got my engine running was the energy between people though, and somehow I managed to justify that in my processing. The physical stuff in my fantasies was just the manifestation of that, it was the remorse, the tears, the begging, the screaming, the desire, the longing, the pain ending, the brave stoicism, the nobility that held it all together for me. That was what I wanted. The passion that goes with pain, to have them under my control, that was the key. The pain was largely just the tool (or so I told myself anyway). Typing this, I’ve just realised that in the same way that other girls think that they’ll love you if you suck really good cock, I thought I could get them to love me if I hurt them and protected them so only I hurt them, and took them to places they never even dreamed of. I simply couldn’t perceive of meaningful intimacy without control and pain in the mix.

Eroticism to me was, and is, all about domination and submission and pain…. but still I didn’t want to be a sadist. A lot of people don’t I realise, but I had my own very strong reasons in addition to this so it was a huge thing to me.  

When by the time I got round to having penetrative sex, I’d been a fucking Grand Poobah of SM and D/s (in crude, non defined forms) for years before then, it was in my blood.

I’m good at inspiring loyalty, it’s the magic card I was born with, and I ran with that. And it turned out that I was right! If I protected people, and hurt them, controlled them, and took them on magic carpet rides to a mixture of good places and bad, they gazed at me with big dark addicted eyes and did what I wanted. Tra la la. It was easy for me, it came entirely naturally. Looking back I enslaved people very very young, too young.

Sex, without power exchange just bored me, but I wanted to be ‘normal’, to not be fucked up, to not be bad and dangerous. Now I know I am fucked up, abnormal, can be dangerous if necessary, but not bad. Then, being ‘bad’ was a terror.  

I like cutting. And kicking. And choking. And fucking while people scream and cry. And biting right through flesh. And drinking blood, And beating, harsh and long. And humiliation and headfucks and other deliciously twisted sadistic things. Most of all though, I like power. I like control. And what do you know I’m very good at that?  But there wasn’t a space in my head for all that stuff marked ‘good’ (or ‘not bad’) so I struggled.

But I love power exchange so much more than the giving of pain, TPE in particular. I like to see people gulp down their pride when they don’t want to, but know they feel they have to for me. I like to see them submit. I like to run them. I like to see them extend themselves, way, way beyond where they are comfortable, just. for. me. And knowing how to do that has always been like breathing to me.

So how long have I been into BDSM? Always perhaps? Since I first made someone crawl for me? Since I ordered people to do what I wanted and they did? Since I hurt someone and made them gasp? Since I took charge of someones life? Since I broke someone and saw them look at me like I was a God? Since I made people afraid, because they wanted my approval more than they wanted not to get hurt? Since I changed people's erotic responses? Since I forced someone to orgasm then laughed at them for it and made them beg?

Power is what I fly on, much, much more than giving pain, which I know surprises many people. BDSM is largely what I’m made of.  I still sometimes wish I wasn’t a sadist, but I am what I am.

I'm a kinky bitch, and I'm ok with that.

Hello, I seem to have started a blog.

Hello, I'm MT, a dominant woman from the UK. Nice to meet you.
　
Now, at this stage casual readers are possibly already imagining some PVC clad dominatrix strutting archly around in six inch heels, wearing artfully applied make up, a peaked little hat, and a sneer. While I am fond of my lipgloss, and can manage a bloody good sneer on occasion, I am deeply unlikely to be found in a catsuit and skyscraper heels. At the time of writing I am sporting a fetching black tshirt with an 'anatomically correct' mermaid skeleton on bought in Brighton's Kemptown, a black lacy skirt from Monsoon (so edgy!), and men's black biker boots. I imagine the disappointment at this news may be crushing for some, but sadly can't quite find a spare fuck to give despite my best endeavours.

So now we have established that I am not a two dimensional porny dominatrix, who, pray tell, am I? And why do I call myself dominant if I don't even have the good grace to totter around my own home in spike heels and my tits busting out of a corset? Well here, gentle readers, is the abridged version;
　

• Human being, female genus. Aged 38.
• Good at control, direction and nifty with the 'Jedi Mind Tricks' of enslavement. I am successfully bossy.
• Owner of a male slave hereafter known as N, with whom I live in a committed relationship, and love very much. His main duties include making poached eggs, banging my brains out, mending things, loving me and providing nice arms to sleep in, keeping my house infinitely more tidy than it would be left to my own devices, bleeding for me as per my cravings and kink, generally entertaining me, stomping around the house looking sexy in tight tshirts and growling when he's cross, looking after me when I am unwell, receiving pain and humiliation whenever the mood strikes me and managing this mostly with good grace, making the gardens lovely, driving me about much in the manner of Lady Penelope, and making copious amounts of very nice tea.
• Opinionated, and bright enough to pull it off. I can string a sentence or two together, and people sometimes find what I say on various issues moderately interesting enough to pay me for it.
• I'm a Sadist. More on this another time (she said, titillatingly).
• Feminist. By this I mean I believe in the utter rightness of equality for all people, regardless of what they are sporting between their legs. I am categorically not a female supremacist. Female supremacy flies entirely in the face of feminism after all, and, well, the way it's done in BDSM it always looks a bit silly doesn't it? I'm not a Goddess, I'm just an old school, born to rule, woman with attitude (Ra)!

Which I suppose rather brings me back to my opening point. I'm not a FemDom person. I'm not a pro Domme, or a House Domme, or a 'Domme' at all. I'm really just a 38 year old woman with some rather varied life experience, a few thoughts, lots of opinions, a great deal of determination, a slave, a submissive or two here and there, lots of lovely friends, far too many books, and an addiction to Earl Grey. I would also really like to also have shiny hair but that doesn't seem forthcoming anytime soon.

I suppose I should now really cover Why I Think FemDom Stuff Is Bollocks and get that out the way. It's simple really - I'm just not ashamed of being a woman. While I have many flaws as a human being - I leave hair (unshiny) in the plughole of the shower, spend too much time pissing about on the internet when I'm meant to be being productive, and sometimes read texts I need to talk about on the way to talking about them, - the presence of a uterus and inny rather than outy genitals is not something I see as one of these flaws. The truth is that I rather love being a woman.

　

You see, to my mind, the majority of FemDom rhetoric seems to me to have a very low opinion of women - all that subtext screaming out that submitting to a woman is a degrading act is both inane and would piss me right the fuck off. And trying to disguise this tripe by blithering on about how the woman is a Supreme Dominant Goddess usually seems such a craply unconvincing attempt at covering this up, that anyone would think that really it's just an afterthought to try to quasi-legitimise a very fucked up game, having spotted such a major flaw in the 'philosophy'....

I mean, if the best quality person I could find to submit to me was a ‘pathetic little maggot’ then I'd be a pretty shite dominant. I enjoy having people I think highly of submitting to me, that's my thing. It gets me wet, emotionally, politically and sexually.

Speaking of which I also find all the "you have a teeny weeny cock and are a pathetic little worm, boy" stuff cringeworthy. There is a political point coming (no, really), but first the hot stuff; I like fucking. I like fucking very very fucking much indeed. You could say it's my life's work, my calling (when I'm speedily reading those texts on the way to a talk you can usually bet it's because I've been shagging in the time I planned to be diligently working). So anyway, I like sex. And therefore do I want some sexually inept man in my bed? Do I long for someone with a tiny cock? Do I pant with desire and drip down my muscled yet plumptious thighs at this thrilling thought? Does the idea of poor sexual esteem seem likely to you to result in a stupendously brilliant, screamworthy shag? Because it doesn't to me.

I get humiliation, really I do. In fact I somewhat excel at dishing it out. But I like a sexually advanced and depraved man in my bed. I like someone with their Life shit together, who submits to me because they think I'm fucking brilliant, not because they think they're a bit shit, or because they get a naughty little thrill out of lowering themselves to 'submit' to a woman.

　

Really, I find most of this whole FemDom thing about as convincing as telling me that Katie Price with her dysfunctional misery and her sagging silicone and her public desperation is a feminist icon, or that lap dancing clubs with their junked up women who look like orange anorexic depressed drag Queens are havens of female empowerment, or that too tight thong underwear riding up your fanny is sexy and empowering and For Women rather than just an uncomfortable, bulgy-yet-speedy way to get a UTI. Whether the kink the women are servicing is forced feminisation ("degrade me by making me look like some fucked up Eurotrash vision of the feminine. Empowerment baby"!), or whatever, it's just... well aside from being fucked up which is the main point, it's also tacky and I find it really really unsexy. I'm never going to get wet knickers at the thought of a man with hairy stocking-clad legs telling me he has a naughty little maggot between his thighs and he deserves it chopped off for being a bad, bad boy.

And I think that's my real objection to FemDom conventions really. It just seems to me to be a sort of pantomime interactive porn for men, almost designed to degrade women. Lots of men may want women strutting around in spike heels and corsetry, and I don't see that as any different to male dominants who want their chick submissives in white cotton panties and school skirts. And I actually think there's nothing wrong with that, I'm all for people getting their rocks off anyway they please - vive la difference! But if it's only for male fantasy it's not bloody serving me, now is it?

And I like being served. Not as much as I like controlling and being obeyed but I'll take all I can, because I can. I can have what I want, and then some more. I like seeing my man sweat for me while he writhes in pain, or watching his muscles ripple while he works for me. I like him in tight tshirts, and well fitting jeans because he looks shaggable. I like his big strong arms to sleep in, and his lovely fat cock to come on. And more than that, I like my man to be someone I admire and respect, and for the fact I own him to be a reflection of the fact I think he's someone pretty fucking cool.

My kick is owning a three dimensional, intelligent, capable, strong, funny, hot piece of arse who doesn't need to submit to anyone, but submits to me, and totally belongs to me. Who doesn't have to delude himself that I am some pseudo-Goddess poster child for womanhood to deal with me. Who is cool with the fact that I'm a bit fucked up and that means I crave some freaky shit. You see, being a three dimensional woman means I want a three dimensional man to stomp through life having adventures with me.

And being a dominant woman means I want to own him. See? It all makes perfect sense.